


Fault

by fallingleaves



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cutting, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's ambiguous, Medical, Minor Character Death, Self-Harm, Stitches, Suicide Attempt, but you could see it as more if you want, graphic blood, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingleaves/pseuds/fallingleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A robbery goes wrong and Barry can't deal with the aftermath.  He runs to Starling to talk to Oliver but winds up getting overwhelmed by the outcome of the crime instead, and taking off by himself.  He starts to spiral, and Oliver finds him in a very bad spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fault

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS FOR WARNINGS THANK YOU
> 
> So this was a prompt that I got a while ago and finally finished. Basically they were looking for something where Barry was cutting and/or about to commit suicide and Oliver has to talk him down. This is what I came up with. Hope you enjoy!

There was a robbery, and he wasn’t fast enough.

            _(You’re never fast enough, you’ll never_ be _fast enough)_

            There were three of them.  No one knew about the third.  They hadn’t known about the third.

            _(“You have the time to case your surroundings, so why don’t you?”)_

Why didn’t he?  _Why didn’t he?_

It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be routine.  In and out, tie them up, done.

            _(You weren’t fast enough to beat Zoom – now you’re not even fast enough to beat a common criminal)_

Barry wanted to close his eyes, wanted to pretend it never happened, but he couldn’t, couldn’t block it out, couldn’t do anything.  So he just kept running.

            _(No, that’s not even it.  You beat him, didn’t you?  Just not in time.)_

Not in time.

            Barry couldn’t breathe.

            And then he was stopping, skidding to a stop.  He changed in a second, was back in civilian clothing.  His head spun and he couldn’t tell if it was the dizzying guilt or if he was actually on the verge of passing out because he hadn’t eaten anything before taking off.

            _(Not in time.)_

            It was raining.  Barry hurried under an overhang, walked into some fast food restaurant still in a daze.  His phone buzzed again.  He ignored it.

            _(Her face, her_ face _.)_

Barry squeezed his eyes shut.  He couldn’t stop seeing it.

            He couldn’t stop seeing her eyes, bright blue and terrified, face pale, blonde hair in wisps, framing her face.  He couldn’t stop seeing the other woman’s eyes, the same bright blue eyes, but worse, so much worse, the look of utter disbelief, of complete and utter horror and panic, and then the anguish, the transforming, all-consuming anguish –

            Barry pushed his way out of the store without buying anything to eat.  He walked back down the lane, everything still spinning.  He couldn’t go back in the restaurant though, couldn’t go back in any of the stores, couldn’t stand it, and couldn’t stand the cramped, stifling air, the eyes on him.

            _(They know what you did.)_

_(“Case your surroundings.”)_

_(Three men.)_

_(Your fault.)_

_(Dead.)_

He could hear the click of the trigger ringing in his ears.

            _(You’re not fast enough.  You’ll never be fast enough.)_

He could hear his own voice, his own voice in his head, that single “no” as he realized it, as everything slowed down and he realized that he wasn’t going to make it.

            He didn’t think, he just walked, and suddenly he was in a convenience store, and he was looking for food, something high calorie, something he could eat to get him the rest of the way to where he was going.  Where was he going?  Oliver.  That’s where he had been going, had been running to, desperate, desperate for something, for anything.  He didn’t know what to do.  He didn’t know what to do.

            But he was starting to wonder why he even thought talking to Oliver would solve anything in the first place.  What did he expect Oliver to do?

            _(To tell you how stupid you are, how naïve, how young, how inexperienced, how incapable, how absolutely incompetent –)_

He hadn’t thought it through, had just run, had just gotten out of Central as fast as he could with the one thought that he couldn’t face his friends, couldn’t face Caitlin and Cisco and Iris and Joe, had to get out of there, go somewhere.  They didn’t understand, wouldn’t understand, and so his first instinct had been to run to the one person he always ran to when something happened in this job that he didn’t know how to deal with.  And now he was in Starling and what good was it really?  This wasn’t a criminal he didn’t know how to fight, wasn’t an inner hero complex, this was a flat out failure and it was all his goddamned fault.

            _(Your fault.  Not fast enough.  Not smart enough.  Stupid.)_

_(Should have cased the place first.)_

_(He_ told _you to case the place first.)_

            Barry grabbed a box of energy bars and a box of something very different and threw them down at the cash register.

           

 

 

            He ran.

            Maybe that was his problem, always trying to run away from his problems.  He couldn’t run away from this one, he couldn’t get away from this one.

            It was in his head. 

            In his head, playing on repeat, over and over again.  Her eyes.  He couldn’t get those eyes out of his head.  He couldn’t stop hearing the gun go off.  Couldn’t stop the feeling of his blood rushing through his veins, the ice cold terror of the realization that he was too late.

            _(“Barry, there’s three of them!”)_

He stood on top of a building, looking out across the city.  The rain had slowed to just a mist, but his hair was already drenched, his T-shirt soaked through.  He barely noticed.  He had eaten all the energy bars down on the ground.

            He ripped open the other box and pulled out a razor, just one.  He let the rest of the box drop to his feet, and for a second he just held the metal there between his forefinger and his thumb, hands trembling, staring.

            _(All your fault)_

It had been years.  When he was still a teenager.  The last time he’d done it.  But he remembered, he remembered the rush, the sudden calm, the feeling of the tension leaking out of his body.  He remembered what a miracle it had felt like then, that a few drops of blood could make it all go away for a second.

            He just wanted it to all go away for a second.

            _(You’ll never be fast enough.)_

The first cut was shaky and fast and shallow, blood beading up just on the surface, a thin red line.  Barry gasped, and it was back, that sudden rush, slipping over his skin, and the pain was sharp and sudden and clear – it was so clear.  A single point, one feeling of clarity amid the jumbled, hashed up images and words replaying in his head over and over and over again.  It was sharp and clear and so, so not enough.

            He cut again, this one deeper, just a little though.  They’d be gone within the hour.  He knew that.  There was no consequence to it, no consequence at all.  Just the sharp, quick pain and the devastating relief it offered.

            But it was gone so quick.  He needed more.  He dropped to his knees and kept cutting.  Three, four, five, more.  All the way up and down his left wrist, and then again on his right.  Blood dripped down his arms, but the earlier ones were already healing.

            _(You deserve it.)_

_(You deserve more.)_

It was all his fault, all his fault.

            She was dead and it was all his fault.

            He hacked at the inside of his elbows, tearing deeper.  The pain was instant and a little more intense than he had anticipated.  Good.  He had never cut this deep before.  The blood came up faster there, ran down stronger.  He was already healing though.

            No consequences.

            God, he wanted there to be consequences.

            He stood back up slowly, found himself walking over to the edge of the building, found himself looking down.

            _(All your fault.)_

_(You could have saved her.)_

_(Not fast enough.)_

She was wearing a blue dress.  The criminal, the third one, shot her in the head.

            While her mother watched.

            She was _six years old_.

            Barry let out a scream, dropped to his knees one more time, this time with his fingers gripping the edge of the building, so close, so close.  He could feel the blood dripping down his arms, could feel the cuts all over his arms, feel them stinging, hurting, God, it hurt.  He wanted it to hurt more.  They’d be gone in an hour.

            He didn’t want them to be gone in an hour.

            He wanted something that wouldn’t be gone in an hour.

            Did he want to even be there in an hour?

            He shook his head, closed his eyes.  He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop seeing her, couldn’t stop the guilt eating him alive.  He backed up again, scrambled back just far enough to grab another blade from the box.  He lifted up his right pant leg and started hacking there instead, started tearing the metal across his skin in rapid stripes.  The pain was white hot, ripped up his legs, seemed to burn in his blood.  He was doing damage now, knew he was doing real damage now.

            It wasn’t enough.

            His fingers were back on the edge of the building, his knuckles white.  The pain was still shooting up his leg.  He couldn’t breathe.

            He just wanted it to stop.

            A tear slid down his face.  He didn’t notice.  The world blurred in front of him.  He wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t good enough, he didn’t deserve to live while she died.  He didn’t deserve to be here, he didn’t deserve to be called a hero, he didn’t deserve to –

            “Barry?”

            Barry froze.  He heard footsteps behind him, heard them stop again.  He was suddenly ice cold.  His head spun, the dizziness hitting him all at once, not knowing if it was from hunger, or stress, or blood loss now.

            He felt a hand go down on his shoulder.

            “Hey, Barr.”

            He didn’t move.  He knew who it was without looking.  He didn’t want to look.

            “Caitlin called us,” Oliver said carefully.  His voice was steady and calm, oh so calm.  “She told us what happened.”

            Another tear slipped down Barry’s face.

            “I’m sorry,” Oliver said.

            _(“I’m sorry”)_

It wasn’t enough.

            “Barry,” Oliver said, his hand rubbing back and forth on his shoulder now.  “Can you come back from there?”

            Barry didn’t move.

            Oliver took in a careful breath.  “Can you take a couple steps back from the edge there, Barr?”

            Nothing happened for a moment.  A long, single moment where Oliver’s heart was lodged in his throat, his mouth dry, knowing that he couldn’t stop him, knowing that with Barry’s speed Oliver wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop him.

            And then Barry’s fingers drew back.  And he turned slowly.  Moved, stood up, and let Oliver lead him away from the edge of the roof.  Oliver stepped over the box of razors, and Barry let the one still between his fingers slip to the ground.  If Oliver heard it collide with the rooftop then he ignored it.

 

 

 

 

 

            There was a long staircase, an elevator, and a car.  It passed in a blur for Barry.  And then they were entering an apartment, what must have been Oliver’s apartment, and Oliver was pressing him down into a chair at a kitchen table, back a moment later with a bowl of water, a washcloth, and a first aid kit.

            Barry let him take his arms and carefully slide the washcloth over them.  He let him dab antiseptic over the cuts, even though it made them burn so bad he had to close his eyes and clench his teeth and look away.  He let him carefully bandage them up, before moving to his leg, propping it up on another chair.  His hands stilled when he rolled up the pant leg to his knee.

            Oliver looked up at him.  Barry met his gaze.

            “Some of these need stitches,” he said.

            Did they?  It should have shocked him, should have horrified him, but it just sent a little jolt through him and that was it.

            “It’ll heal,” Barry said, and to his surprise his voice sounded raspy and rough.

            Oliver took in a deep breath and shook his head.  “Dose Caitlin usually put in stitches?”

            Barry nodded.

            “Then I’m gonna put in some stitches.”

            Barry sat still for him while he worked.  It was painful, but seemed somewhat numb this time.  The few times that Caitlin had to put in stitches before had been unpleasant ordeals that usually involved Barry squirming and complaining and protesting a lot about how he really didn’t need them.  This time he was silent.  He let Oliver put them in and barely flinched the whole time, only hissed and jerked a bit on some of the worst ones, his body seeming to react of its own accord.  It wasn’t pleasant, wasn’t like when he was cutting himself, when he was doing it himself.  There was none of the same rush or calm, but it still didn’t feel the same as when he’d had stitches in before.  He was detached, still felt dizzy, still felt like he deserved the whole thing anyway so what right did he have to complain?

            “Alright, that’s done,” Oliver said when it was over, bandaging up the last one.  He sat up slowly, looked at Barry for a moment, before saying, his voice quietly.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

            Barry shook his head.  Oliver sighed.

            “You should talk about it.”

            Barry looked down, at the table.  His hands came together, fingers moving around each other.

            “It’s not your fault,” Oliver said softly, “you didn’t know.  You tried to stop them.”

            Barry stilled, and then suddenly his head was jerking up.

            “It’s all my fault,” he said.

            “Barry –”

            “It’s all my fault,” Barry said again, and suddenly his heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing past his ears.  “How can you say it’s not my fault, it’s all my fault, I didn’t check, I didn’t check, I was arrogant and stupid and I rushed in and I didn’t case the place, I didn’t case it just like you told me – like you told me to.  I was so stupid, I was so – I –”

            “Barry,” Oliver said, and his face was pained.  He reached out to take one of his hands.  “Barry, Caitlin told me, you got there just in time, that they were already shooting, you –”

            “I had time,” Barry said, almost screamed, “I knocked them both out and I had time, I could have, I –”

            “You thought it was done,” Oliver said.

            “I wasn’t fast enough,” Barry shouted, before slamming his head into his hands.  “I wasn’t fast enough, I should have been fast enough, I should have looked, I should have paid more attention, I should have –”

            “Barry,” Oliver said, his hands on both of Barry’s wrists now.  “You can’t save everyone.”

            Barry looked up, and then something broke in his expression, and he pitched forward with a sob, head hanging down, tears running down his face now.

            “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault, it’s all my fucking fault.”

            “No,” Oliver said, moving to rest his hand on his shoulder again.  “Barry, Barry, look at me.”

            He looked up slowly, like it pained him to do so.

            “It’s not your fault,” Oliver said, “you didn’t shoot anyone.  You didn’t kill anyone.  It’s on them.  Not you.  You tried to help, and you did.  You saved a lot of people today at that store, but you couldn’t save her.”

            “I could have,” Barry said, voice soft and broken.

            “Maybe,” Oliver said, “but you don’t know that.  You can’t save everyone.  You won’t ever be able to save everyone.  Sometimes you watch people die.  It’s awful, and sometimes it hurts, it feels like it hurts too much, but it’s part of the job.  You have to focus on the people you did save.”

            “She was a child!” Barry screamed, “she was a little girl, Oliver, and I was right there, I was right –”

            “I know,” Oliver said, his voice soft, “I know, Barry.  I know.”

            And suddenly Barry was pitching forward again and Oliver was there, his arms open and Barry was crying against his shoulder, shaking with the sobs.

            “It’s OK,” Oliver said, “it’s alright.”

            “No,” Barry said, shaking his head.

            “Come on,” Oliver said, and he stood, Barry still wrapped in his arms, and he moved them to the couch, where they could sit. 

            “I should have been there.  I should have looked.  I should have known there was another man,” Barry said.

            “You did everything you could,” Oliver said.

            “I didn’t.  I could have done more.”

            “Then do more next time,” Oliver said.  He went quite for a moment.  “You can’t help anyone, Barry, if you’re dead.”

            Barry stilled too.  For the first time he started to actually consider what he had just done.

            “I wouldn’t have.”

            “You were pretty close.”

            “I… I wouldn’t have.”

            Oliver dropped it, for now.  He rubbed Barry’s back instead, as he shifted back, sitting back against the couch, wiping at his face with the back of his wrist.  Oliver nodded at it.

            “You want to tell me about that?”

            Barry froze.  He looked up at Oliver slowly.

            “I…” but he trailed off.  He looked down again.

            “If you didn’t heal, you could have died from blood loss.”

            “I wouldn’t have lost that much,” Barry mumbled.

            “Barry.”

            “I wouldn’t.”

            “Barry, those were some serious cuts.”

            Barry was quiet.  He played with his hands, avoiding Oliver’s eyes.

            “Barry.”

            “I was upset,” he said softly.  “I… I just wasn’t thinking.  I deserve it anyway.”

            “Barry, you do not deserve it.”

            “It’s my fault she died.”

            “It’s not your fault, Barry.”

            “Oliver –”

            “Did you pull the trigger?”

            Barry just sighed, turning away from him, already knowing what he was getting at.

            “Well?”

            “No.”

            “Then you didn’t kill her.  You are not a murderer, Barry.  You didn’t kill anyone.  It’s not your fault.”

            “I still could have saved her.”

            “You tried, didn’t you?”

            “I- of course, I did.”

            “Then you did everything you could.  Barry, you can’t save everyone.  You’re never going to be able to save everyone.  It was a terrible, horrible thing, and I’m sorry you had to witness it, but terrible horrible things happen every day.  All you can do is stop as much of it as possible.  You can’t do more than that.”

            “I could have done more this time,” Barry said, almost bitter, as he turned away from him.

            “I don’t see how you could.”

            “If I had just –”

            “Barry, you didn’t know.”

            “I should have checked.”

            “You acted on the information you had.  You thought it was only two guys, and you incapacitated both of them.”

            “I should have checked.”

            “You couldn’t have known.”

            “I should have.”

            Oliver closed his eyes.  “Barry, how many people were in that store?”

            Barry frowned at him.  “I don’t know.”

            “Take a guess.”

            “Ten.”

            “So you saved ten people?”

            “They might not have shot them, if I hadn’t run in there,” Barry mumbled, “they could have just been hostages.”

            “Caitlin said they weren’t wearing masks.”

            Barry looked up slowly.        

            “It sounded like they weren’t there for hostages.  It sounded like they were going to kill them.”

            “That doesn’t make sense,” Barry muttered.

            Oliver shrugged.  “If you hadn’t shown up at all they all could have died.  Instead one of them died.  I know it’s still horrible, but you still saved a lot of people today.”  When Barry didn’t say anything else Oliver kept going.  “Think about how many people you’ve saved since you got your powers, Barry.  Think about that.  Even heroes can’t save everyone.”

            Oliver waited while Barry stared downwards some more.  It was another minute before he looked up, eyes rimmed red, expression anguished and full of pain.

            “It still hurts,” he said softly, “even… even if it’s not my fault.  Even… she still…”

            “I know,” Oliver said softly.  “But you have to keep going.  So you can help someone tomorrow too.  So you can stop anything like it from happening again.  Or at least, doing all you can to stop it.  That’s all you can do, Barry.”

            Barry nodded slowly.

            “You’re friends are really worried about you,” Oliver said, “Caitlin said you hurt your ribs before you left.”

            Barry moved his hand unconsciously to his side, wrapping over his stomach.  “Oh yeah,” he said.

            “How is it?” Oliver asked, looking as Barry pulled up the edge of his shirt.  Underneath his skin was covered in blue-black bruises, green splotches mixed in.  Oliver winced.

            But Barry’s face remained impassive.  His fingers skimmed over it.

            Oliver sighed.  “Let’s get you in some dry clothes, OK?”

           

 

 

            Barry lay down on his back on Oliver’s bed, wearing a pair of sweatpants, a long sleeved shirt next to him but not on yet.  Oliver sat next to him on the bed, the first aid kit now resting on the night stand.

            “Tell me if it hurts,” Oliver said.  He reached over and pressed lightly over the worst of the bruises, feeling for the ribs underneath.

            “Mmm – ah,” Barry said, squirming a little.  He let out a breath. 

            “Hurts?” Oliver asked.

            Barry nodded.  He let out another hissing breath and closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax instead of tensing up.  Caitlin was always yelling at him about tensing up when she had to do something unpleasant.  It made the pain worse and didn’t help the anxiety that usually accompanied that either. 

            “Easy,” Oliver said as he flinched again.  Oliver ran his fingers over his stomach and chest, feeling around the ribs.  “I don’t think they’re broken,” he said.  “Are you having trouble breathing?”

            “A little,” Barry murmured.  “Not now.  I was when I ran.”

            Oliver nodded.  “I think it’s OK,” he said, “but you should have Caitlin take a look at it when you go back.

            When he went back.  Barry closed his eyes.  He wasn’t ready to go back.

            Oliver moved, finally closing the first aid kit, and Barry sat up with a wince.  He pulled on the shirt that Oliver had given him, feeling the sleeves slide over the bandages covering his arms.  He winced again.

            “I’ll be right back,” Oliver said.

            Barry didn’t pay much attention as he walked out.  Instead he got up and stumbled over to the mirror across the room.  He looked at himself in it.

            He looked defeated.  He noticed it with a numb feeling.  He looked like a little kid in Oliver’s clothes, baggy around his frame.  He leaned his forehead against the glass and for a second just wanted to go home.

            In the other room Oliver called Star Labs.  He spoke with Caitlin.

            “His ribs look fine.  He’s OK, but he… he’s not doing great.”

            Barry opened his eyes, hearing part of the conversation, turning towards where the door was still open a crack.

            “Yeah, I’ll ask him… OK.  Yeah, no problem… bye.”  Barry turned back towards the mirror before Oliver walked back in.

            “Hey,” he said, “have you eaten?  I have some leftover pizza, but I can order more.”

            Barry shook his head.  He really didn’t feel hungry.

            “Come on,” Oliver said, “let’s get you some food.  You’ll feel better once you eat.”

            Barry shook his head, but let Oliver lead him back to the kitchen.  He slouched in the chair, leaning his forehead against his hand as he watched Oliver reheat frozen pizza for him.  When he set it in front of him Barry just stared at it.

            “Eat,” Oliver said.  Barry looked up at him, his expression blank.  Oliver gave him a stern look.  “Eat,” he repeated.

            Barry sighed and picked up a piece.  He nibbled at the first two slices but by then the hunger seemed to have kicked back in, and when Oliver got a delivery of five more pizzas he ate them all with little protesting.

            The dizziness cleared as he ate, and some of the numbness abated.  As it did though, as things started to get a little clearer, as his head stopped running a million miles per hour the pain started to become more and more apparent.

            His ribs ached, and he was only now realizing it.  The bruising would take a while longer to heal.  His arms stung from all the cuts, but those were healing.  What really hurt was his leg, the pain lacing through his skin whenever he moved, and especially if he tried to walk.

            He had screwed up.  He never should have cut that deep.  It was just starting to dawn on him.

            The last time he’d done it had been in high school.

            Fuck.

            Barry pushed the thoughts out of his head.  He’d have time to deal with it later.

            “You should get some sleep,” Oliver said.

            Barry shook his head.  He didn’t want to sleep right now.  He didn’t think he could close his eyes without seeing that little girl in front of him again.

            Oliver was quiet for a few minutes, just sitting there at the table.  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

            Barry shook his head.

            Oliver waited a second.  “Have you done that before?” he asked after a moment, his voice calm and steady.

            Barry nodded slowly.

            “That’s a dangerous way of coping, Barry.”

            Well, he knew that.  He didn’t feel like mentioning that this was the only time he’d ever cut deep enough to need stitches.  Most of the scars had faded away even.  They had never been deep before.  It hadn’t gone on long, a few months during a particularly hard time in school, before Joe found out and then there were the therapists and then school ended for that year, and it was summer and he got better.  He’d relapsed a couple times, but he’d gotten better.  He hadn’t even thought about it in months.

            “Do your friends know?”

            Barry didn’t say anything for a second, and then softly.  “Joe and Iris do.”

            Oliver took in a long breath.  “OK,” he said, “you know it’s not a good way to cope, right?”

            Barry nodded.  Oh, God, he didn’t want this conversation right now.  He had already hashed through the whole thing before, he didn’t want to do it again.

            _(You almost killed yourself.)_

He’d never done that before either.

            It sent a cold shiver up his spine, sent his thoughts racing again and so he pushed it down, shoved it down back into a corner where he could ignore it for now.  He couldn’t think about that right now.

            “We’ll find a way to help you with it,” Oliver said.

            Barry looked up at him.  “The last time was years ago,” he said.

            Oliver blinked.  “Oh,” he said, “that’s… well, that’s good.”

            Barry shook his head.  “I didn’t mean to,” he said softly.

            _(Didn’t you?)_

_(Well what exactly did you mean, then?)_

He didn’t know.

            This wasn’t him.  He didn’t do this.  He didn’t lose control like this, didn’t give up like this, didn’t come so close to giving up like that.

            “I think you did,” Oliver said, equally as soft.  “But it’s still OK.  We’ll help you.  It’ll be OK.”

            “I didn’t,” Barry said.

            _(You jammed a razor blade into the vein under the back of your knee.)_

He could feel the pain from it under the sweatpants and bandages.

             “You should talk to Joe and Iris when you get back.”

            Oh, God, he couldn’t.  He shook his head.

            “They’ll help you,” Oliver said.  He waited a moment.  “It’s OK to need help.  You’ve got a great team.  You wouldn’t be the hero you are without them.”

            Barry shook his head.  “They’ll be disappointed in me,” he said, “they… Joe… they were so proud of me when I stopped.”

            “They’ll be proud of you when you stop again too.”

            Barry shook his head.  “I fucked up,” he said.

            Oliver smiled, just the hint of one, and Barry looked up.  “A little,” he said, “but you’ll fix it again.”

            “I just got so upset,” Barry said.  The weight of it was settling with him now.

            “Next time don’t run away from people,” Oliver said, “it’s OK to be upset, but let people help you.”

            “I was running to you,” Barry said.  He shook his head.

            Oliver frowned.  “What made you stop?”

            He shook his head again.  “I don’t know,” he said, “I just…”

            _(You gave up.)_

“… I gave up.”  The echo in his head sounded more like laughing.

            “You can’t give up,” Oliver said, and now he was shaking his head.  “I know you, Barry.  You don’t give up.”

            “I did this time,” he said.

            “Well,” Oliver said with a breath, “we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

            Barry looked up, surprised.  “And how are you going to do that?”

            Oliver’s expression seemed to change, a mix of exasperation and fondness, the fear that had been underlying it all night finally receding just a tad.  He stabbed a finger at Barry.  “By making you understand that you have people to help you.”  He paused, and then added, “and that no matter how fast you are you’re still goddamned human.  You make mistakes.  You need help sometimes.  You can’t save everyone.  That’s OK.”

            Barry swallowed.  “OK,” he said softly.

            “Now,” Oliver said, “I think you need to get some sleep.”

            Barry looked over at where the couch was.  “I don’t think I can,” he said. 

            “Oh, I think you can,” Oliver said, “I think you’re exhausted.  Come on.”

            He got up, and started walking into the bedroom.

            “I’ll sleep on the couch,” Barry said. 

            Oliver snorted.  “Like hell you will.”  He walked into the bedroom and Barry trailed after him.

            “Lie down,” Oliver said, more like demanded, so Barry lowered himself onto the bed, wincing harshly when his leg burned and protested.  Oliver frowned.  “You alright.”

            “Yeah,” Barry said, breathing through the wave of pain.  “Just… it’s catching up with me.”  It was getting worse instead of better, the numbness after the whole thing wearing off now. 

            “You did a number on yourself,” Oliver said, looking down at where Barry was rubbing at his leg.

            “I didn’t really notice it before,” he said, grimacing as he tried to extend his leg, wincing when that was met with a sharp stab.

            “Hm,” Oliver said, “let me help.”

            Barry stayed still while Oliver carefully took his leg in his hands, extending it out slowly for him while he hissed at the pain.

            “Thanks,” he said when it was done.

            “How does it feel?” Oliver asked.

            Barry took in a sharp breath.  “Hurts,” he admitted, ducking his head a little.  It was his own goddamned fault, and he didn’t understand now how he could have stood the pain back when he was actually doing it.  Everything had seemed so dulled at the time.

            “It’ll heal,” Oliver said, giving his shoulder a pat before straightening up.

            “I’ll be in the living room,” Oliver said.  He paused then.  “And Barry.”  Barry looked up.  Oliver’s face was dead serious.  “You come get me if you need anything, OK?  If you need to talk, or you start feeling worse, or anything, OK?  You come get me and wake me up, alright?”

            “Yeah,” Barry said, “yeah, thanks.”  When Oliver kept giving him that look, he said, “I will.  I’ll come get you if I start feeling worse.”

            “OK,” Oliver said, “good.  Goodnight.”  He went to shut off the light.

            “Oliver,” Barry said suddenly, and Oliver paused.  Barry looked down for a second.  “Actually… could… could we talk a little more now.”

            Oliver blinked at him, and then he was moving over, going for the chair next to the desk against the far wall.  “Yeah,” he said, “sure.  But you should still get some sleep soon.”

            Barry bit his lip.  “Um… could… could you just talk to me then.  Until I fall asleep.”

            Oliver blinked again.  “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are wonderful and very much appreciated I love you all thank you! :)


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